


a lesson in earnest

by rorotea



Category: TsukiPro the Animation
Genre: Deception, Fluff, M/M, Valentine's gift, though this has nothing to do with valentine's day sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-22 03:58:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17655656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rorotea/pseuds/rorotea
Summary: - Sora takes a job request, Morihito lets him. In which Sora malfunctions more than once.





	a lesson in earnest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miryul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miryul/gifts).



> Please enjoy!

**“** …”

 

 **Sora’s** thoughts are whirring. Disorganised from the long night turned day spent perfecting another composition. He is standing near the counter of their kitchen, and though the call itself has ended, the cell phone still hovers near his ear.

 

“Um… Sora-senpai?” It is Ren who breaks the odd, expectant silence in the room. Sora’s shoulders begin to tremble, making Ren’s forehead crumple in some worry and predominant bewilderment.

 

A wide smile curls slowly — almost ominously — on Sora’s lips, trembling shoulders giving way to a throaty laugh that echoes throughout the dorm.

 

Nozomu finally intervenes. “Is… Sora-senpai broken? Should we call for help?”

 

“They said they wanted _me_ ,” Sora whispers through another wobbly chuckle; the dark rings under his eyes bring a touch of horror to the words. “ _Not_ Sou or Mori… Me!” Nozomu leans forward before the leader has finished talking, easily snatching the phone from Sora’s grip. “Senpai, you’re going to break it if you keep squeezing like that.”

 

“Ah —” Sora’s voice is choked. The younger members share a look before Sora finds himself being pushed with the delicacy of a vacuum cleaner towards the couch.

 

“We can ask him what that was about later. When he’s slept,” he hears Nozomu, tone light and unsurprised. A blanket is thrown over him — primly because it is Ren who does it — and Sora feels a wave of brick-like exhaustion float over his eyelids, even though the buzz of frantic excitement is still there, flitting about like an insect is trapped in his ribcage.

 

Still chuckling, Sora drifts off into slumber.

 

* * *

 

“So that’s what it was about?!”

 

Nozomu holds back a laugh; even Ren can’t help but bring his fingers over his lips.

 

“Apparently so,” Morihito says, taking a long sip out of his mug before continuing, “They called Wakatsuki-san because Sora sounded strange over the phone.”

 

Morihito fills in the gaps: The promotional staff of a growing brand of accessories among teenagers and adolescents, _Love in Hearts_ , had placed an informal request for Sora — a request to model for them. It was a relatively small job, Morihito had learned. But hearing the surreal (yet believable) account from Nozomu and Ren about Sora’s reaction tickled the muscles in his lips even as he spoke.

 

Before Nozomu can say anything else, the door swings open to reveal a dishevelled Sora: his hair shoots up like flames in all directions, the pout on his face reveals some lingering disorientation, and the hem of his pants is bundled high on his right leg.

 

Seeing that everyone had avoided the living room to let Sora rest comfortably and now huddled together in Morihito’s room, a warm splash of colour brightens his visage.

 

He fixes his pants and pats down the ends of his unruly hair. “I have news!” — the sleepiness is still heavy in his voice — “I’m gonna model!” His mouth opens to a sunny grin, hands resting on his waist with the glittering confidence of a king. Morihito reads the expression — _aren’t I amazing?! —_ with an inward chuckle.

 

 _Silence_.

 

Sora clears his throat, chin raised a notch higher, “I’m gonna model!”

 

“Congratulations, Sora-senpai!” Ren says quickly, shooting a reproachful frown at the others. Unconvinced, Sora squints, eyes darting from member to member. Morihito gives his signature close-eyed, blinding smile when Sora searches him.

 

The leader hangs his head, shoulders deflating. “Mori told you, huh? How did _you_ know, anyway?!" His brows squish together, "This won’t do! Be excited — again!”

 

Soushi, who is quietly lingering near bookshelves lined neatly against the walls, finally laughs. A twinkling gaze brightens and thaws his cool features when he says, “Congrats, Sora.”

 

“Congratulations, Sora-senpai!” Ren says again, with sincerity layered so thick it makes Sora’s pout inflate.

 

“Congrats, senpai!” Nozomu grins, a teasing tone leaking into the sentiment.

 

Morihito lifts the mug to his lips, broad smile betrayed in the crinkles near his eyes. “Congrats, Sora.” Softly.

 

The tips of his ears redden, and Sora immediately turns his back to them. “I don’t wanna hear it now!” And he runs out. Nozomu and Ren trail after him, though they seem to fall into a conversation of their own, completely ignoring their leader.

 

“You look like you’re having fun,” Soushi sits beside Morihito, bed bouncing with the added weight. “You think he’ll like it?”

 

Morihito takes in a long breath, perhaps to mince his words. “It’ll be a good experience for him.”

 

“Scary,” Soushi laughs, but says nothing more.

 

* * *

**_One week later_**

 

Sora clutches a paper bag covered in hearts in his fist, storming through the halls.

 

He almost runs into Kensuke and Ryouta — who, upon sensing his fierce aura, cut off their greetings, shoot each other a covert glance, and physically separate to pave a path for hurricane Sora. A whirl of guilt twists and dilutes Sora's focus — _he can’t be rude to them! —_ and with great difficulty, his feet plant firmly into the ground, body straight as an upright shovel.

 

He turns his head almost mechanically towards Kensuke and Ryouta. “Hello.”

 

“S-sora… Are you okay? Do you need help… with um...  anything?” Kensuke ventures with a half-smile. Even Ryouta examines him closely, light eyes sharpening on the bag crumpled in his grasp for any telling features. His face lights up with recognition, and he tilts his head inquisitively at Sora. 

 

“Everything is fine!” Sora nods heavily. “I’ll talk to you later! Good night!”

 

And he sets off again, hearing bewildered murmurs of _“good night?”_ in his wake.

 

Upon reaching the place he calls home, he forgets that he has keys and knocks on the door continuously until someone lets him inside. Of course it is Soushi, eyebrows angled inwards in annoyance.

 

“What’s wrong with you?!” He asks, moving aside as Sora barrels in.

 

“W-where is Mori?” Sora breathes out. A glass resting on the counter momentarily calls his attention; the sensation of dryness in his throat and mouth is intense enough to quell his flurry of emotions. He pours water from the nearby jug and fills his mouth.

 

“Out in the balcony,” Soushi says, a solemn cloud of understanding settling on his features — together with a furtive smile. “How was your —?”

 

Sora interrupts though he isn’t done swallowing another (large) sip of water. “Don’t!” He sets the glass on the counter carefully even though he wishes he could slam it!

 

He sees Morihito’s lean figure slumped over the balcony railing, the entrance only an inch open. Slipping his fingers in the crack, he pulls the door. Morihito glances over his shoulder, face a perfect picture of composure.

 

“You! Didn’t! Tell me!” Sora enunciates, taking one step closer with each word. Morihito pushes up his glasses, an infuriatingly  _elegant_ gesture in the face of Sora’s indignance.

 

“You didn’t ask.” His tone is careful, but the twitch at his lips — Sora doesn’t miss it. He finally opens up the bag, movements sloppy, and pulls out just _one_ of the accessories he was wearing some hours ago in front of _cameras_ , to be plastered on _fliers!_

 

This particular headband is spotted, the cat ears fluffy and black. Rather cute and dainty.

 

“They even let me take it home because I looked too cute!” comes Sora's strained voice, as if he is on the brink of tears.

 

“You could have refused if you hated it,” Morihito smiles, taking the headband in his hands, pale fingers delicately brushing the cat ear. His eyebrows are raised, mouth forming a small ‘o’ — like he’s _actually_ interested in the object!

 

Sora feels his buzzing emotions confuse themselves for a moment but he finally manages to say, “But I agreed to it! _You_ agreed to it!” He doesn’t add the rest, though it lingers shamefully on his tongue: _they looked cute on me and I was suddenly charmed and_ **_wanted_ ** _to keep going but I can’t say that!_

 

Morihito faces him, fixing the collar on his own sweater. “Sora.”

 

Just his name, said in Morihito’s voice, dumps a bucket of ice-cold water in Sora's face. He is suddenly calm, attentive.

 

“I agreed to it because you’d already said yes,” Mori says slowly, almost as if he is pleased by Sora’s wide, keen eyes. “Blindly accepting requests that you know nothing about, even if it’s just a verbal agreement, is dangerous, okay?”

 

When Sora opens his mouth, nothing comes out in rebuttal.

 

Mori continues, “They were nice enough to call about it further, but it’s not always going to be like that. Even after accepting it, you didn’t ask about what kind of job it would be, or to go through the agency first. I know you were excited, and this wasn’t a _bad_ opportunity. So I let it be.”

 

Sora bites his lower lip, averting his eyes downward because Morihito suddenly feels taller — bigger. He lets out a small sigh in resignation, searching until his fingers find his back pocket. Retrieving, and carefully dusting the photo. Casting an investigative glance to make sure it’s as cute as he remembers.

 

“Look,” he says in a low voice, pressing it into Morihito’s chest. The taller man’s fingers when he takes it graze Sora’s hand, which suddenly feels more sensitive (like the rest of him).

 

Sora looks up again.

 

At Morihito’s widening eyes, how his lips part and an adoring smile melts across his face against the backdrop of the sky. How his fingers tremble because he wants to laugh.

 

He _hates_ Morihito in this moment. Even if it was for his _benefit_ —

 

Even if Sora looks so cute he can put this kind of smile on Morihito’s face —

 

Sora wants his revenge!

 

But he is not one for clever machinations, so he lets instinct take over instead. First, he quietly puts on the headband, smoothly stolen from Morihito's grasp. Then, his hands shoot out faster than Morihito can see; they clench around the soft material of his collar, pull his face down.

 

Sora doesn’t have time to swallow. His revenge needs to be fast and impeccable— his opponent is Morihito _!_  

 

His lips land right on Morihito’s smile, right where he intended.

 

The buzzing warmth of satisfaction brews in the pit of his stomach, piling on to his confidence. Fingers tangled in Morihito's hair, he kisses deeper, stronger — and then pulls away like a spring.

 

Morihito doesn’t breathe, hunched over as if time had stopped for him. He only stares. At Sora, then his lips, then at the cat ears pointing skyward on his head.

 

His fingers shake, and his forehead muscles do as well.

 

Sora feels taller now.

 

“Again…” Morihito murmurs, voice entrapped in clouds.

 

“What?” Sora leans in, hand near his ear.

 

“Do it again…” Morihito says, Sora’s spell only growing stronger, “I wasn’t prepared…”

 

Sora grins, leaning on the railing. “No! This is my revenge.”

 

Morihito’s cheeks are stained red, and Sora thinks he enjoys seeing him try to stutter another plea. He reaches a hand over his head to grab the headband. In a swift motion, he tucks it atop Morihito’s head, meeting no resistance at all.

 

Sora reaches for his phone and snaps a picture.

 

Though, honestly, this picture is already permanent in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Morisora is so cute ~w~... 
> 
> & happy Valentine's day my dear! 
> 
> My twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/fIeurettes).


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